


A Song of Promised Spring

by simplyprologue



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blackwater!au, F/M, tv!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night of Blackwater, Sansa lets slip that she knows how the Hound received his burns. It changes everything. Written before the episode "Blackwater" aired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Promised Spring

She cannot not even move an inch within his grasp; his eyes hold her. They are white, and terrified; she lingers on the burned side of his face, Lord Baelish’s words coursing through her mind. The fire. She cannot even imagine how terrified— _he’s out of his mind_ , she thinks.

 

“You promised me a song, little bird,” he murmurs, searching her features, lit only by the light of the green flames dancing across the startled sky. “Have you forgotten?”

 

“I—I—,” she stutters, feeling his fingers curl tighter around her wrist. The blood masks the worst of his scars, but now he looks more mad than terrifying.  _He looks—he looks terrified._  She cannot imagine, but tries—a boy’s scream, a brother’s cackling laugh, the acrid smell of burned flesh, the long, endless days of pain and anguish and  _there were rumors of a sister_. She raises her free hand to cup the twisted mass of flesh in her palm, the flats of her fingers staining with blood. “I can’t,” she says, almost like she was admonishing a child. “You’re scaring me.”

 

“Everything scares you,” he rasps. “I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again or I’d kill them.”

 

Littlefinger warned her not to tell, but when the Hound closes his eyes and rests his cheek in her hand, she cannot stem the words that come from her mouth. “I know you must be terrified, the fire must remind you of—”

 

He does not need to stand; his head jerks up he is already at eye level with her, being so much taller. His head moves away from her hand, leaving her feeling bereft. “What do you speak of,  _girl_?”

 

Her hand moves almost of its own will, fingers combing through his matted hair. Her mother used to run her fingers through her hair whenever she was upset… perhaps it would calm him down. Her other hand lands lightly on his shoulder, and she takes a steadying breath. “At the tourney of the King’s Hand, when your brother—when the Mountain—he told me of the way you received your scars.”

 

The corner of his mouth twitches and twists. Sansa can smell the stink of sweat on him, the metallic scent of blood, the pungency of stale vomit and sour wine, coated again with layer upon layer of blood and blood and blood. She belatedly realizes that it is also on her heads, now.

 

“You must be so afraid,” she whispers. Sansa feels a vibration under the hand resting on his shoulder, and startles when she figures that the Hound is trembling.

 

A burst of flame sweeps up the tower, crackling and coming to life outside the window. They both jump. Her hand does not still, and the one on his shoulder smooths up the hard line of muscle of his neck and to the back of his skull, pressing his head to rest under her chin. Like a mother comforting a child, she tells herself, even though it stirs something unfamiliar inside of her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, not sure what for. She closes her eyes, and then remembers that she promised him a song. She opens her mouth to sing, but screams instead as silence ripples in from the outside—and then in a burst of heat, green wildfire shatters her window and sprints through the room. The Hound is on his feet quickly, wrapping his arms around her and twisting violently to shield her from the flames.

 

“Little bird?” he asks, this time her head tucked under his chin.

 

They run, and Sandor— _Sandor_ , she reminds herself, with his arm wrapped around her waist and white cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders—does not bid Stranger to stop until they reach the Riverlands.


End file.
